The Luckiest
by amberpire
Summary: He's a ventriloquist. He's a nerd. More importantly, he's Robbie Shapiro, and girls like Tori don't say his name the way she did just now. ;Robbie/Tori;
1. Chapter 1

**_-The Luckiest  
><em>**_Part One_

_"I don't get many things right the first time_  
><em>In fact, I am told that a lot."<em>

* * *

><p>The first time they kiss, Tori is more than a little drunk and Robbie just isn't one of those guys that takes advantage of inebriated girls.<p>

She tastes like alcoholic fruit, her lips glossy and wet as they meet his with sloppy guidance under the moonless sky in Beck's backyard. He blinks once. And then again, just for good measure. The Mountain Dew he's been nursing for most of the night starts to slip from his thin fingers, his knuckles tightening reflexively as he tastes a swipe of tongue on his lower lip. Beck's porch banister is digging into his lower back.

She's pinning him. He's letting her.

Robbie has kissed girls before, but most of those experiences either involved his overly affectionate Aunt Peggy or stealing a stage kiss during a play. Now he can add mindless drunkenness to his less than impressive list of kisses.

Tori's fingers are warm on his cheeks, holding him in place. He blinks again. Her eyes are closed, her body hot as it pushes against him, deeper into the corner of the porch. Beyond her is the warm glow of the back door, orange light flooding out from the party still going on inside. He thinks he hears Cat singing, swaying with Andre's guitar strings. He thinks about how he thought it was so weird for Tori to ask him to step outside with her, why she would come to him first and not someone cooler - God knows Robbie is at the bottom rung of the social ladder. Tori isn't even on it. She's what everyone is climbing for.

As Tori's tongue unites with his own, Robbie's eyes start to grow heavy, his free hand resting tentatively on the curve of Tori's hip. Oh. There's a small gap between the hem of her shirt and the top of her jeans and the hot flesh brushing against his palm makes him breathe in hard and fast through his nose. She smells like alcohol but damn if that isn't incredibly intoxicating. Maybe it's her arms slipping around his neck that spurs his confidence, or the fact that the music is starting to fizzle into insignificant background noise, or the ever pressing truth that Tori Vega is _kissing him,_ and he's _kissing her back_, but whatever the reason he pulls her close and takes the lead.

And maybe this would be all sorts of cool - you know, kissing Tori Vega and all; Queen Bee, gossiped to be even more popular and more talented than Jade West - if Robbie was the kind of guy that cared about social status and getting laid.

But he's not. Sure, being treated better in school would be nice and getting laid sounds like a whole field of fun, but Robbie's been blessed (or cursed) with a conscious, and as much fun as kissing Tori Vega is, he just can't. Or he won't. Or he knows he shouldn't. So he doesn't.

He turns his face away. Tori's panting mouth falls against his cheek, trying to find his lips again, but Robbie shakes his head, trying to push her back. She isn't budging and he doesn't want to look at her and get swallowed up in the drunken flush of her cheeks or the way her eyes look all sleepy and suggestive, so he stares at the bushes lining Beck's house.

"What's wrong?"

Robbie swallows, glancing down at the gaping eye of his pop can. He sets it carefully on the porch banister before meeting her gaze again, her brown brows like broken bridges over her nose. He has an insane urge to take his thumb to her brow and smooth out the lines of confusion etched there, but he keeps them still at his sides, eyes darting away from her.

"You're drunk." That's really the only reason he stopped her - or himself, depending. She's drunk and confused and he knows that Tori isn't like this. She doesn't just throw herself on guys. Robbie doesn't think she's ever drank before. Even he knows that three drinks in a few hours time is not the best idea, and he's seen her fill up more than once tonight. Something tells him that Jade is somehow responsible for this. It's more of an itching feeling than something he can prove, but more often than not when Tori is in a bad situation, it always leads back to the witch of the West.

There's also the tiny, itty bitty fleeting reason that he would rather not acknowledge right now that has to do with his heart in his throat whenever she's around and the way her laughter rings in his head long after she's left and the nights he spends with his eyes closed and his pulse beating drum solos into his ears, reminding him that her blood is in his veins now and how intimate it feels and how he knows it shouldn't.

He wants Tori, but not like this.

Tori's blinking slowly at him, the lines of her confusion clearing out. She takes a step back, a cool wind replacing her warm presence. She glances at her hands, her feet, the party going on inside. The brown swirls of her hair tickle her lips as she covers her mouth. Robbie's tongue subconsciously darts out to taste her again. Alcohol. He wonders what she tastes like without that particular flavor attached to her. He wonders if it's better.

"Oh." She blinks again and then looks at him, brown eyes wide, fingers still over her mouth. He wonders what he tastes like. "I'm sorry," she says, eyes falling on the red plastic cup she had balanced on the banister. She frowns, ducks her head, and turns. He watches her feet struggle to walk in a straight line. She disappears into the house and Robbie is left with his can of flat Mountain Dew and her empty cup and a kiss he could but won't brag about because Robbie just isn't that kind of guy.

/

He thinks he should talk to her, but if she's not bringing it up, to hell if he is.

They don't sit next to each other at lunch. She doesn't look at him. He doesn't speak to her. They avoid one another in the hallway. It's driving him crazy because she makes it seem so easy while he feels like there's a thousand storms raging inside of him. Her face is about as easy to read as Arabic. Not that he's looking. Because he's not.

Except when he is.

Tori is - she's pretty. Painfully so, judging by the tight coiling in his chest, so the boy can't really be blamed for staring. Or admiring, as he prefers to phrase it. And it's not like pretty girls are rare in Hollywood Arts - Cat is pretty, Jade is pretty (albeit in a terrifying way), Trina, too - but that's not what makes Tori so fascinating. Whereas Cat's smile is manic and kind of distant, and Jade's is sinister, and Trina's is far too cocky, Tori's is sincere. It's warm and lights bonfires in her eyes and it makes his unreliable heart do all sorts of acrobats in his chest. Her eyes are coffee brown and her skin is soft bronze and her laugh is rich. Everything about her is so genuine and in a school full of actors, that's surprisingly hard to come by. Because everyone is good at faking - that's why they're here - but Tori is talented without having to have a mask on all the time like the rest of them. Like Jade and her foul mood and Cat and her ditzyness and Beck's good guy act and Robbie and his puppet. Tori is just Tori, and Robbie likes that.

He watches her leave from where he stands at his locker, thumb between his teeth, Rex's head pressed against his sternum. The puppet is quiet, Robbie's thoughts centered on Tori's lips as she pulls them in, moving past him as if he's not there. She waves to Andre on the way out and the coiling in Robbie's chest snaps, wires winding their way through his limbs and jerking him into motion. Snagging his backpack from the locker, he bursts after her into the hot Hollywood sun and the baking parking lot. The dispersing crowd is loud with laughter and screaming, someone's car pumping music nearby. Tori's shoulders are hunched, her head down as she walks toward her car, and Robbie's hand is on her elbow before his nerves can stop him.

She turns, all wide-eyed and frowning, blinking in surprise to see him standing there. She pulls back, Robbie's empty fingers clenching before falling to his side.

"Uh." Robbie's obviously smooth personality is practically bleeding through. "Hi."

Tori adjusts her shoulder strap. "Hi."

The awkward is rock-thick as it settles between them because Robbie honestly didn't think he would make it this far without Rex interrupting or him getting hit by a car or something, but here he is and there she is just standing there and he wants to smooth the worried, crooked lines on her forehead out just like a few nights ago but he presses his hands to his sides and chews on the inside of his lip instead.

"We should probably talk about the other night." Robbie swallows.

Tori shrugs, her eyes skittering away. "I was drunk." She frowns. "Not something I'm particularly proud of, but Jade told me there wasn't any alcohol in the punch." Her brows sharpen.

Robbie mirrors her frown. Called it.

"Yeah, but I -" He stops, shifting nervously, the sun hot on his back and Rex feeling heavier than normal, shifting the doll uneasily in his elbows. Robbie's never been all that suave - the only females he's not a complete wreck around are his relatives which does little for his social life, and Rex's existence takes care of everything else. His eyes flick up to Tori, the prettiest girl he's ever seen, and when he licks his lips he can still taste her there, or maybe his mind has simply tattooed her against his tongue. He thinks of fruit and he thinks of alcohol. "But I wasn't," he finishes somberly, kicking his feet against the blacktop.

Tori stares at him for so long Robbie almost thinks she went spontaneously deaf and didn't hear him. He opens his mouth to repeat himself only for her to take a quick step forward, eyes narrowed and calculating. His jaw hangs open, words lost, much like his dark eyes hooded into hers.

"That's right," she says slowly, gauging him, and he can feel every hair on his body starting to rise. "You weren't drunk. You were drinking soda all night."

The way she says it isn't the same tone Jade would have used. Jade would have teased him for it; hell, she just had during first hour, calling Robbie a pansy because he had preferred to stay sober that night. Well, every night. Robbie shifts, struggling to hold Tori's eyes. So he doesn't like to drink. Or smoke. Or do much of anything that's mind altering. He doesn't like the way it makes him feel, all loose and disjointed, and he doesn't like the way it makes words come out of his mouth that he doesn't remember saying. He has a brief flashback to the one time he did get drunk, a few months ago at Beck's place. Andre was there, and sometime during the night Robbie had let it slip that he thought Tori Vega was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Robbie didn't even remember it and it wasn't until the next morning with his head halfway down Robbie's toilet did Beck remind him of it, laughing as he snaked his hands in his curls. It made Robbie hurl a whole new round of vomit.

Robbie had a similar feeling now.

"Er, yeah," he manages, giving a slow nod.

Tori leans closer, eyes narrowing to dark slits. "You kissed me back," she mumbles, and when she breathes out Robbie can smell the mint of her gum, stinging his nose.

His hands fly up. "I didn't take advantage of you! I - I told you you were drunk and you went back inside and I left, remember?"

"I know." Tori's head tilts, lips pursed, and he can see the flash of her lipgloss. He wonders if it was the same one she was wearing a few nights ago or if she has a multitude of flavors in one of her drawers at home. He wonders just how many things Tori can taste like, and what she _really_ tastes like, underneath it all.

When she doesn't say anything else, Robbie takes a slow step backward. "Then, uh, I guess we'll just forget about it? You were really drunk so I'm not, like, I don't expect anything and we can just, you know, pretend it never happened -"

"You kissed me back," she repeats, firmer this time, and the hints of a smile are tugging at her lips.

Robbie hesitates. The glee in her eyes is more than a little unsettling, the coiling in his chest tightening up again. "Uhm."

"Do you like me, Robbie Shapiro?" A slender brow arches, the curve of a question mark carved into her forehead.

Oh, he is definitely going to puke. He takes another step back, raising Rex like a shield. "Gotta go, Princess," the doll snaps, and Robbie is spinning on his heel and practically sprinting to his car.

Tori did not just say that. That did not just happen. He's drugged. Someone slipped him some acid and he is on some really messed up trip right now because Tori Vega does not smile at him like that. He's a ventriloquist. He's a nerd. More importantly, he's Robbie Shapiro, and girls like Tori don't say his name the way she did just now.

He peels out of the parking lot. Nope. Definitely didn't happen.

Except his heart is in his throat and his hands are shaking and Rex is quiet and the silence speaks the truth so loudly.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _This was originally supposed to be a oneshot but then I decided that this couple doesn't get nearly enough love and they just need it._

_The title and beginning lyrics are from the song "The Luckiest" by Ben Folds. Go listen to it._

_Reviews are quite smashing._


	2. Chapter 2

**_-The Luckiest_**  
><em>Part Two <em>

_"And where was I before the day_  
><em>That I first saw your lovely face?"<em>

* * *

><p>"You are such a baby."<p>

Robbie threads his fingers into his hair and sighs, burying his face further into his pillow. "I know," is the muffled reply, heartbeat thudding in his ears like some mockery of footsteps which he knows he should be taking out of his room and down the stairs and to the phone or God forbid outside for the first time in _two damn days_ -

Okay.

His hand slithers across the sheets, skimming under Rex's legs until he finds his laptop, humming with warmth. He tugs it forward and flips it open while still laying on his stomach, his glasses mashed against the side of his face. The screen glows, TheSlap page still open and set on Tori's profile just like it's been since Friday, reading every status she's updated since he made a fool of himself in the parking lot. His seemingly permanent frown etches deeper into his face when he reads her most recent one, something about wishing a 'particular someone' would answer their phone. There's a pouting face bouncing next to it, as well as her mood: _distraught_.

He knows this is stupid. He's being a huge baby about all of this. Turning off his phone and hiding under the blankets is not going to make all of this go away. He's spent hours trying to convince himself that this isn't even a big deal, that normal guys go through stuff like this all the time. It's just a girl. It's just Tori.

Except it's not.

Because nothing about Tori is just. She isn't just a girl. She isn't just another actress or singer. She isn't just another student at Hollywood Arts. She's Tori Vega and she's been nicer to him than any other girl he's ever met. He props himself up on his palm, eyes narrowed on the screen. Tori's default picture is one of her mid-laugh, eyes crinkled and dark. It isn't one of those standard pictures where there's obvious posing or heads turned a certain way or a hint of a smile instead of a real one. It's her. It's Tori. Real, like she always is.

His eyes close again, his tongue slipping from the barriers of his teeth and tracing his lips. If he focuses, he can still taste her, drunk and sweet on his mouth. It's like she intoxicated him with just a memory, left him permanently inebriated. Robbie sighs, closing the laptop and sitting up in his bed, eyes falling on the silent, still puppet propped against the pillows. He reaches out, his fingers trailing along the puppet's face, lidless eyes staring blankly at him.

"What are you looking at, loser?" It's Rex's voice, but his mouth and body don't move and it's just Robbie's fingers lingering on his wooden face.

Rex is just as vital to Robbie as his arms and legs. He's always been there. Robbie can't think of a time that Rex wasn't hovering in the background. Even before his form was physical, something Robbie could touch and have the displeasure of lugging around his arms, he was there, buried in his mind like a rude cancer with an endless pile of insults. Rex was everything Robbie couldn't be, didn't have the courage to be, and, honestly,_ shouldn't_ be - Tori hates Rex. Because while Rex is brave, talented, and much more relaxed in social situations, he's also sarcastic and mean, and Robbie hates that that kind of person is locked away in him somewhere and pumps out through his veins into his hand when it's inside Rex. It makes him sick.

And just knowing that that kind of person is trapped inside of him, that it's just under the surface and it only escapes through the wooden, flapping mouth of a vulgar puppet scares him to death. It's exactly why he all but refuses to get close to anyone, even Tori. Especially Tori. There are just so many things wrong with the way she smiled at him in the parking lot, glowing bronze in the sunlight, not only because he's a weird boy with a puppet and she's the VIP of Hollywood Arts, but because he's a bad person. He has to be. Rex is proof of that.

He looks at his phone for a few minutes. A couple of buttons. Simple presses of his finger and she could be right there, right in his ear, right in his brain, just like Rex.

But he doesn't, and the blankets are walls as he pulls them over his head.

/

His lip is bleeding.

Robbie hisses as the sting finally registers, yanking his rear view mirror to face him. His teeth are stained pink.

"Retard."

His eyes cut through his glasses to stare daggers at the puppet beside him. Rex doesn't move, facing the windshield, buckled in like he's a real person and Robbie thinks for a brief moment that he's a really sick guy. His eyes flick to the window, swallowing the brick building looming bright and colorful against the Hollywood morning sky and he wonders how he's survived high school this long.

Every passing brunette has him ducking in his seat, heart slamming in his throat, only for it to be a nameless girl he doesn't know. His fingernails scrape the seat as he sinks into it, watching other students leave their cars and hurry to the building. Maybe she's already inside. Maybe she isn't coming to school today. Maybe he'll be able to continue being the shadow he's always been, a ghost, invisible, the way he's always wanted to be, so Rex's comments go unheard, unnoticed. He doesn't want to see her, afraid of the courage it gives him when he does, and he doesn't want her eyes all soft they way they were, like he's an actual person and he actually matters.

"You don't matter."

Robbie's fist smacks against the steering wheel. "Shut up!"

"Robbie?"

The muffled voice makes him jump, reeling around to face his window. His heart gives a particularly painful squeeze of blood, his blood, her blood, to his brain, leaving him momentarily blind and blinking furiously to bring Tori back into focus. Her face is warped with concern, eyebrows digging over her nose, and even like that, Robbie thinks, man, she's really beautiful.

He struggles with the door, opening it with one hand while the other grabs Rex by the head and yanks him forward, crushing his silent mouth to his chest. He climbs out of the car, pressing the center of his palm into the corner of it so hard it hurts, eyes falling to the concrete. "Hey, Tori."

"Are you okay?" Her hand flies out so fast Robbie doesn't even see it, landing just below his elbow. Even through his sleeve he can feel the soft burn of her flesh, simmering, scarring, and he jerks back, a hand flying to the back of his neck, tangling nervously in his curls.

"Yeah." He pushes the car door shut with his hip, cradling Rex gently, his eyes scattering everywhere but her face. His gaze lingers on the slope of her hip, where her pink top meets the band of her jeans and he remembers when his hand rested there, curved and cupped her like she was precious and, well, she is. When she shifts, the material lifts on one side, folded up, and there is that skin he felt brushing under his palm, warm and soft to his virgin hands, and a gasp rustles in his lungs somewhere, trapped.

"I called you a hundred times this weekend."

The heaviness in her voice is what tricks Robbie's eyes into lifting, finding hers. Her lips, lips he has kissed, lips he has tasted, are falling into a frown far too tragic for a face like hers. It's too sincere, too genuine, and it makes Robbie's heart unwind from its strings and plummet into his stomach.

"I'm sorry, I just, I -" He shifts, shaking his head, and Rex mumbles something into his chest that sounds a lot like 'pathetic' but he decides to ignore it, swallowing and trying again. "I made an idiot out of myself on Friday and I just, I'm sorry -"

"Rob."

She's touching him again and this time, he doesn't move. No one calls him that and it catches him off guard, his eyes slowly drifting up to hers, carefully mapping along her shirt and slipping up her throat before falling on her mouth. His tongue presses between his lips, recalling her again, bringing her taste back to him, but it's marred by alcohol and lip gloss and for the thousandth, millionth, billionth time, he wonders what she tastes like beneath all of that.

"_I_ made an idiot out of _myself_ when I kissed you drunk." Tori's lips fight with a smile. "I don't want things to be awkward with us, okay? I just want -" She pauses, her eyes shifting away. Robbie follows her gaze to the ground, the tiny rocks on the asphalt like fallen bits of stars. He scrapes one with the tip of his shoe, watching as Tori's lip is sucked between her teeth.

They both jump at the sound of the bell, clanging loudly from within the building. Tori's hands fly to her backpack straps.

"Crap. C'mon, we're late!"

He almost drops Rex when her hand twists into his, yanking him forward and bringing a yelp of surprise barreling out of his mouth. She runs fast, and she's a lot stronger than he would have guessed, though Robbie has the strength of a soggy napkin, so that really shouldn't be as surprising to him as it is. He's much more distracted by how warm she is, though, the heat seeping into the lines of his hand where they come together, like needle and thread. The school is cool and empty when they burst inside, Tori still dragging him almost too effortlessly up the stairs.

"Wait, Tori."

The words stick in his throat, clogged behind Rex's voice, and the sound is different, weird, a mix of the two people raging a war inside of him. Tori pauses, her eyes worried as they meet his over her shoulder. They stop, breaths clashing together on the empty stairwell, Tori leering over him. Robbie swallows hard, forces Rex down, the puppet dangling from his free hand by one of his arms, swinging lifelessly.

"I, uhm." He shakes his head, eyes falling on their still clasped hands. Tori's fingers squeeze his and he's reminded of her blood in his veins, pumping hard in his chest like it's trying to return home, inside of her. He lifts his eyes again and finds hers, dark into dark, and he scoops out the courage the color of coffee. "I never answered you on Friday. About liking you." He shifts and he can feel Rex's face against the inside of his knee, can feel his voice echoing in his head. He doesn't have to speak it to hear it, to feel it, to know it, but he tries to ignore the whispers scarring his eardrums from a voice only he can hear. "I do." He watches her eyes melt as he speaks those words, her lower lip twisting, muscles twitching, and why? It's the center of his thoughts for several long moments - why? Why does that make her happy? Why does _he_ make her happy?

_You are no one._

He glances down for a brief moment at Rex's head, resting against his leg, and he knows there's no escaping him. He can take his hand out of his back and not move his mouth, but that doesn't stop the cancer from talking - spreading.

"I hope that's okay," he adds quickly, quietly, hushed, and his hand is sweating in hers and he hopes that doesn't gross her out.

Tori giggles. Robbie doesn't quite believe it at first, but when he meets her gaze again she's stifling a smile under her other hand and her dark cheeks are stained red.

"Of course it's okay. It's great." She lowers her hand, a single eyebrow arching. "Because I kind of fancy you, too."

He almost asks her right then. Why? It doesn't make sense. Girls like Tori don't like boys like him. They like boys like Beck, like Andre, like the boys Cat dates and pretty much any other male on the entire planet but, Jesus, not him. Beck and Andre are good guys. They don't hide behind puppets. They don't have another person rotting inside of them.

Robbie does.

He squeezes her hand. "Good."

But it's not good. It's making him feel sick and sweaty and he wants Rex to say something to her, to make her never want to talk to him again, but the voice only cackles with condescending laughter.

"Come on." She gives him a short tug and they're flying up the stairs again, Tori's backpack bouncing as they jog to Sikowitz's door. She pauses outside the glass, eyes peering in before slipping to Robbie's. The boy is pinned by her stare, swallowing as she pulls her hand from his. "Want to make a bet?"

Robbie's eyebrow perks over the rim of his glasses, a smile struggling to bleed through his frowning lips. "Sure."

"I bet Sikowitz makes a joke that insinuates we were doing something illegal."

Robbie likes the crinkle of her eyes when she smiles. And suddenly he's very aware of how quietly she's talking and how close she's standing to him and that he's actually much taller than her, his neck slightly bent to catch her words. His next breath shakes before coming out. "I bet he makes us come in at lunch to scrape gum off the chairs."

"And if I win?" A flash of white teeth makes her smile glow.

Robbie stutters for a moment, searching the floor for some kind of answer. "I, I-"

"If I win," Tori continues, her free hand extending to prod a single digit into his sternum. "You have to buy me dinner. And if you win, I buy you dinner. Deal?"

_No one._

"Deal." Robbie's smile explodes if just for a moment - and it's just Tori and the small space between their faces and no alcohol this time, no party, no music, no Beck's backyard, no Rex - just them.

And then Tori smiles and opens the door.

"Hey! You! You! Where were you? Spray painting lockers? Vandalizing the teacher's lounge? Heaving bricks into the toilets? Wait - that's ridiculous. Robbie doesn't do heavy lifting."

Tori mouths 'I win' as she sits down.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _Two weeks for an update? For shame!_

_Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I had this life thing to do. Totally bogus. _

_Review? It would make the Rori shipper inside of me oh so glad. _


	3. Chapter 3

**_-The Luckiest  
><em>**_Part Three_

_"What if I'd been born  
><em>_Fifty years before you?"_

* * *

><p>Robbie has always been good at school. Honestly, he doesn't understand why other kids have such trouble with it. He's been firm in his belief that all of the answers to every question – be it in English, math, science, or what have you – are easily attainable if one simply searches for them with the appropriate material. Formulas, literature, textbooks; it's all right there if you just know where to look and how to manipulate the tools you have to produce the correct answers.<p>

Tori Vega, however, is something Robbie is not good at. Tori Vega is about as easy to read as a brain surgery instruction manual, concocted with equations Robbie doesn't even know the names of, and a thousand layers of complicated poetry and essays and books – volumes of stories and dreams and songs –written in her eyes, in the lines of her hands, the slope of her lips. She's not something Robbie can just dissect and understand like some dead frog in his Biology class and she's not a script he's able to study and memorize for an audition. Tori Vega is a girl and girls have never been Robbie Shapiro's expertise.

Andre took him on a blind date once about a year ago when they were sophomores. Of course, Robbie didn't know at the time that they were going to the bowling alley to meet girls because if he had, he more than likely wouldn't have come. And he probably wouldn't have brought Rex with him. As it was, he walked into the neon streaked building with Rex propped against his elbow. Robbie has never seen Andre nervous; he is just a naturally calm guy, and unlike Robbie, he had never had a problem with being around girls. It was like there was no difference, like hanging out with Beck or Sinjin or any other dude. Andre is always cool. But as soon as Robbie saw the two girls – an Asian girl with a flowery skirt and a tall blonde with big teeth and a loud laugh, his legs turned to rubber and Rex felt like a brick in his arms.

"Andre, you didn't –" he started, but Andre shushed him with an elbow digging into his ribs, whispering sharply for him to relax, that they were just _girls_ and he desperately needed to get a girlfriend. Robbie really couldn't argue with that bold truth, so he had shuffled over to the little table where the two girls were all smiles and waves and Robbie sat down with the puppet's head turned into his neck, trying to swallow the lump of nerves in his throat, rattling like an earthquake was erupting inside of him.

The girls had been nice enough, though, like most people, raised their eyebrows in peculiar curiosity when Rex spoke for the first time. It was something funny and clever, Robbie's sure, and everyone laughed while Robbie tried to disappear behind the doll's head. As the evening progressed (and he made a sufficient fool of himself every time he was up to bowl, where he hit no more than two or three pins at a time) he did get to talking to the Asian girl, whose name turned out to be Rebecca. She seemed just as nervous as he was, but at one point, when the lights were darkened and the alley was lit only by the streaks of green and blue lining the aisles, she dared to take his free hand in his lap.

"How she could ever like you is totally ridiculous," Rex said, the words soft under the music pulsing from hidden speakers. "You're an incompetent, stupid little shit that's going to go absolutely nowhere in life and –"

"What did you say?"

Rebecca's eyes were kind. Or maybe it was just a trick of the lights and all. Robbie stood up, his sweaty hand unsticking from hers as he stepped away. "I gotta go," he told them, and left without another word, just Rex's voice repeating himself over and over.

_Stupid little shit._

Needless to say, Robbie never saw Rebecca again, and Andre never asked to take him bowling after that. If anything, the one thing Robbie took away from that fiasco was an even closer bond to Rex, who became both the only person he could be himself around (which was nobody) and the person who destroyed him the most.

With those girls at the bowling alley, there was nothing more than the fact that they were girls, _pretty_ girls, which scared him off. That's a simple concept. Robbie is a smart guy. Him plus pretty girls equals disaster and a louder, more crude Rex.

But Tori isn't that simple because she's not just a pretty girl.

She's Tori.

And he's buying dinner for her.

"Pick me up at six, okay?"

She's smiling at him in the parking lot of Hollywood Arts. There's a whole crowd of people walking around them, kids leaving in their cars, music blaring from somewhere, and she doesn't even care that everyone can see her talking to him. It baffles Robbie, who shifts Rex against his chest with a tight smile. "Do you care if I bring him?"

He doesn't want to, particularly. He doesn't enjoy having Rex around. Being a ventriloquist lost its appeal after Robbie discovered he couldn't censor, let alone silence, the bad person inside of him. Once he found out that Rex was almost a separate entity, a completely different person from himself that he had little control over, he didn't much care for the art anymore. But as much as he doesn't want to and the idea doesn't appeal to him, he knows he can't function as well without Rex. He doesn't know what to say, where to put his hands, what to do with the rest of his body – it's just easier and makes him feel better knowing that the bad person locked within his bones can at least be seen in his lap.

Tori's smile wavers as her eyes dart down to the doll. "If he promises not to ruin the evening."

"Can't make those kinds of promises, sweetheart." Rex's head swivels to glare at the Vega girl, who makes a face at him before splitting another smile up at Robbie.

She doesn't get it. She doesn't understand.

This is who is hiding inside of him.

"So, six o' clock?"

"Yeah. Okay. Yes. I'll be there." He clicks his mouth shut with effort as she waves at him and turns away, bouncing toward her car. Her wave of brown hair flutters like kite-tails behind her. He watches her in silence, the doll hot around his hand.

"You're going to fuck this up because you don't deserve a girl like her."

Robbie's brow twitches over the rim of his glasses. "Shut up, Rex."

To his surprise, the puppet remains silent the entire drive home.

/

"A date? Honey, that's so wonderful."

Robbie's mother is a soft woman with a permanent smile on her face, her hair a few shades lighter than her son's and smelling of coconuts when she hugs in him in the kitchen. His lanky arms rest around her back as his father claps him on the shoulder, a loud crack probably leaving an impressive bruise behind.

"What's her name, Bob? Are you going to bring her home to meet us?"

When he manages to detach from his mother's arms, he faces his father, whom everyone has always insisted is just an older copy of himself. They're both so tall and skinny it's almost awkward. His father's curls aren't so tightly wrung anymore and his glasses are a tad thicker than they used to be, but the same goofy smile and long nose holds a younger Robbie in their reflection.

"It's our first date, Dad. She's not my – she's not my girlfriend or anything."

"Yet." He winks at his son.

Rex is propped in one of the kitchen chairs and Robbie meets his blue, painted eyes. He doesn't speak – not out loud – but Robbie hears him.

_You don't deserve her._

/

Robbie knows where Tori lives but he kind of wishes he didn't so he would have an excuse to be late.

His stomach curled in knots, the ventriloquist slowly pulls his car into Tori's driveway. The patrol car in her garage alarms him somewhat until he remembers that Tori's dad is a cop which only serves to throw him even nearer into a nervous breakdown. He twists to face Rex, the dark-haired puppet sitting in the middle, hands flopped lifelessly to his sides.

"This is crazy," Robbie says.

Rex says nothing.

"I'm going to throw up."

Silence.

"Tell me I'm worthless."

Rex does speak up then. "You're worthless. You're the most worthless human being on the planet. You're nothing. You're a stupid shit and she deserves better."

Robbie blinks. Nods. Turns around and faces Tori's house.

He climbs out of the car.

Her dad opens the door. He's as tall as he is broad and set into his eye sockets are the same variation of brown that Tori possesses. Robbie stutters an introduction, his sweaty palm swallowed into Mr. Vega's, and then he's ushered inside.

He's been in Tori's house before, has already met her parents – hell, he kissed her sister. Twice. The elder sibling in question is sprawled in a less than graceful position on the couch, headphones shoved into her ears, and her face slathered in what looks like white frosting. Two slices of what looks like cucumbers are balanced on her closed eyes.

"I didn't know people actually did that," Robbie says before he can stop himself, but it sends Mr. Vega into a short fit of laughter.

"Trina's a real hoot. Those aren't even cucumbers, they're pickles. She thinks they're the same thing."

Robbie laughs nervously and the two men turn to the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Robbie's breath catches in his throat like an engine trying to turn. She's not wearing anything fancy – it's not like they're on their way to prom or anything – but, man, Tori can make a trash bag look like it belongs on the runway. Her jeans are dark and her top is purple, the ruffled center poking out from a darker violet colored jacket. A gold flower dangles against her throat on a thin chain that disappears behind her long curls of hair.

"It's a school night, so no later than ten, Tori."

But she's looking at Robbie. He had spent nearly an hour going through his closet and ultimately decided he hated everything in it. Settling on a pair of nicer, dark jeans and a white v-neck his mom bought him a few months ago but he had never worn, Robbie didn't think he came off as particularly handsome, but the way Tori's looking at him, with her lips slightly parted and her hands hovering, empty, over her stomach, it's almost like he is.

_You're not._

Robbie blinks once, breaking Tori's trance, and she shakes her head as she descends the rest of the stairs. "What, dad?"

"No later than ten. You got that, Robert?"

"Yes, sir, absolutely, sir."

"You're going on a date with _Shapiro_?"

Trina's sitting on her elbows, pickles on the humps of her breasts. One headphone is pinched between her fingers, still grinding music.. Her ghost-white face makes her full lips and narrowed, suspicious eyes look like some kind of mask. Robbie swallows hard, stepping back, feeling like he should apologize and leave for even being in the same room as them. The tone of her voice is almost exactly like Rex's, only considerably more feminine.

_There's a smart girl._

Robbie swallows the standard 'shut up' on his tongue.

"Shut up, Trina," Tori scowls, readjusting her purse under her arm. "At least I have a date, unlike some pickle-stinking sister I happen to know."

Trina makes a face that's not really visible under the cream. "Whatever." She shifts her eyes to Robbie and gives a slow shrug. "He's a good kisser, anyway."

Mr. Vega shoots a bullet at Robbie with his eyes.

"Time to go." Tori's hand is hot as it clenches around Robbie's wrist, dragging him out under the orange Hollywood sky.

"I didn't – Trina was just – we had an audition, it wasn't what you think or –"

"Robbie." Tori spins as they reach his car, her smile subtle and soft. "Breathe."

He does. A long, slow breath fills up his lungs and floods out of his nose.

"Better?"

"Yeah."

"Good." The hand on Robbie's wrist slivers down, her palm pressing against his. "Now, you've got a deal to hold up and a dinner to buy me. I'm starving."

Before Robbie can remember that gentlemen open doors, Tori's already in the passenger seat. He slips inside, fumbling with the keys briefly. The engine purrs to life and they're off, Tori's house disappearing around a corner.

"Hey, Rex." Tori's twisted in her seat, smiling at the puppet.

Robbie blinks when the puppet doesn't reply.

He blinks again when nothing replies.

"What, is he mad at me?"

Robbie's eyes flick away from the road for a moment, resting on Tori's soft, tanned face, and then to Rex in the rearview mirror.

"Just not talkative today, I guess." He takes a deep breath. "So, where do you want to eat?"

Tori pats her abdomen. "My stomach is screaming for pizza. That okay with you?" She turns to face him, her hands folded on her knees.

And she's smiling and it's beautiful.

"Yeah." Robbie smiles and when he tightens his hands on the steering wheel, they're not sweating anymore.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: _To be honest with you, I didn't think this story would get so long. Or layered. Like I mentioned in the first chapter, it was supposed to be a oneshot, but now that I've seen Rori, I can't unsee it. It's tattooed on my heart. Robbie and Tori forever. Who knows? Maybe the rating will change. Dun dun dun!_

_Reviews are delightful, as always._


	4. Chapter 4

_**-The Luckiest  
><strong>Part Four_

_"And in a white sea of eyes_  
><em>I see one pair that I recognize."<em>

* * *

><p>"This is some <em>great<em> pizza."

Tori is on her second piece. Robbie is braced against the table on his elbows, a smile that tastes like tomato sauce stuck to his lips. He can't help but admire her, because every other girl he's talked to has insisted on picking at salads and sipping daintily at a glass of water when they go out with boys. But Tori's fearless; she's nearly done with her first glass of Coke and she's talking away, popping pepperoni slices into her mouth while waving her hands to emphasize a story she's telling about the one time Trina convinced her to steal makeup from the department store and how the guilt plagued her for months afterward.

It's not that he's not listening - really, he is. He does this in school every day: paying attention while letting his mind wander off somewhere. The restaurant is small and painted a vibrant red, jazzy music floating from a jukebox in the back. The floor is checkered black and white and race cars are frozen in speed, mounted in a dozen picture frames. The lamp dangling above them is shaped like a tire and makes Tori's hair glow bronze. His eyes never leave hers, ever the animated one, but he's strangely focused on her mouth. It's a pretty mouth as far as mouths go, and the pizza has rubbed away the lipgloss, which means she probably tastes like cheese and sauce and not alcohol. He wants to know what that tastes like, but he still remembers with almost painful lucidity how her mouth felt, so warm and careful, so strong, so sure.

Robbie's distracted and he licks his lips despite himself before jerking back into the conversation at the inclination in her voice, a question. He blinks once and it takes him only a moment to recover.

"Once, when I was, like, eight, or something. I was at this gas station by my house and there was this candy bar I couldn't afford and Rex -" He stops. Chews on his words for a minute. It's stupid, he knows - crazy, even to tell people, Tori especially, that a doll talked him into stealing. But it's the truth. Robbie didn't want to steal it, the puppet told him a real man would, that it wasn't a big deal, that he was being a loser, just like all of the kids at school said he was. Robbie coughs uncomfortably, shifting slightly as he picks at the crust of his pizza. "And I took it and my parents found out. Wasn't fun." He gives her a slow smile.

"Robbie Shapiro, the criminal." Tori's eyebrows dance over her nose. "Looks like we're both convicts."

"Ex-convicts. That was the first and last thing I ever did that broke the law."

Tori chews thoughtfully on another bite of pizza. "Really? You haven't even, like, littered? Not that I advocate littering or anything. Sometimes I forget to wear my seatbelt in the car or my helmet on my bike."

Robbie smiles, an embarrassed flush crawling on his cheeks. "Nothing. I'm not very adventurous."

"Sure you are." She clasps her hands under her chin. "You're just safe about it."

He swallows. A part of him is still high strung, tense like a bow string, and the arrow is pointed directly at Tori's heart. And he's not the good kind of archer, either - God knows he's no Cupid and he probably has the worst archery skills imaginable. It's just that Rex is still in the car, safely locked inside. Tori didn't ask when he left the puppet in there, probably secretly relieved that he wouldn't be joining them. But Robbie's hands feel weird and empty, awkwardly twitching in his lap before he forces himself to handle another piece of pizza, even though he's no longer hungry. Tori gets halfway through her third piece before she shifts her attention to butter and bread, talking about something else now. Robbie isn't listening this time - his thoughts are far too trapped, still locked in the car with Rex.

Sometimes he really wonders who's the puppet in their relationship.

"Rob?"

He blinks. "What? Sorry, I was listening, I just, I -" He rubs at his neck, which feels oddly warm. "I'm nervous." He meets her eyes. Her mouth closes slowly, eyes unblinking. "You make me nervous."

A smile skitters across her lips. "Really?" She says it like it's a good thing, leaning back on the booth seat and folding her arms over her chest. "The good nervous?"

Robbie swallows again. "I think so."

He watches her tuck her lower lip between her teeth. She takes a deep breath and sits forward, elbows on the table, mirroring Robbie's stance. She meets his gaze and for the first time he sees a flicker of nerves in her eyes, hesitance. It surprises him. Exempting their first kiss when Tori was completely smashed, he's never seen her unsure of herself. Tori just isn't like that.

And then it occurs to him, but he barely has time to finish the thought because Tori vocalizes his suspicions -

"You make me nervous, too."

Robbie looks at his hands. His right, particularly, because that's the one that operates Rex. He wonders if that's where the bad person in him lies, twisted in the ligaments and tendons of his arm. He flexes his fingers slowly, imagining the insides of Rex being manipulated without him actually being present. The puppet says, _you're a fuck up_.

"Why me?"

Tori frowns at him. "What?"

"At the party." He lifts his head slowly, finding it hard to hold her eyes, so he directs them at his pizza crust. "Why did you take me outside, of all guys? You could've taken anyone. Someone much cooler."

The silence is so long that Robbie worries he's really upset her. He turns his eyes back to her uneasily, nearly choking when he sees her dark eyes narrowed and angry.

"Do you think that's all I care about? Do you really think I'm that shallow, Robbie?" The words are sharp, her mouth setting hard like she's biting back much more to say.

Robbie's mouth opens and closes for several moments, panic seizing his throat. He reaches across the table, his left hand finding hers. It's warm and soft and he grips it probably a bit too tightly, but he's shaking his head almost furiously at her. Rex would have never worded it that way, he knows, but he can't help the way words scramble like eggs on their way from his brain to his mouth.

"No, no, not at all. That's not what I meant. I -" His hand tugs back. Tori's eyes watch it for a moment. "I just - no one has ever liked me before, you know? It's ... weird. I don't really get it."

Tori's hands slide under the table. The space between them feels empty, Robbie's breath hitching as his own hand twitches to rest awkwardly on his shoulder.

"You're very likable."

The words are spoken so softly, Robbie thinks he's misheard them. He blinks, finally parting his lips. "What?"

"You're very likable," she repeats, and her lips are between her teeth again, and it's so cute he can't even stand it.

_No you're not. There's nothing to like. Nothing at all._

Robbie shakes his head, fingers slipping past his temples to thread into his curls. His eyes screw closed. That voice is louder now, closer, and he half expects to turn over his shoulder and see Rex propped in the window of the restaurant, staring him down, very Chuckie-esque. He ignores the urge to look, just in case.

He might be slightly off his rocker, but he's not crazy. Yet.

"I mean it, Rob. You're nice, you're sweet, you're -" She gives a nervous laugh that draws Robbie out of his hands. "You're cute."

He swears he's forgotten how to breathe. His tongue flaps uselessly in his mouth before he clicks it shut, rubbing one cheek absently. "Thanks. I - I've never heard that before, and coming from you, it's just - you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

The urge to punch himself in the face is almost too much to ignore. He can't meet her eyes, twisting his hands into fists on the hills of his knees and gritting his teeth like he could grind the awkward away. The black leather of the booth becomes a victim to his aching nails, tearing at the fabric with his teeth squeaking in his ears.

"Thank you."

Robbie lifts his head. She's blushing. She's actually blushing, like she doesn't hear that all the time, like it's not obvious. Robbie leans forward slightly. "Didn't you know that?"

Tori raises her eyebrows. "That's not the first thing that comes to mind when I think of myself, no."

"What is?"

She hesitates. Again. She glances around the nearly empty restaurant for a few moments, the only other people in the place an older couple back a few tables. The man is holding the woman's wrinkled, gnarled hands.

_You won't ever have that._

Robbie presses his palm to his mouth and muffles the _shut up_ that threatens to break through his teeth. A waiter who looks about as happy to be there as a caged cat leaves their bill on the table. With the question still hanging between them, Robbie pulls his wallet from his pocket and shifts through the bills.

"I'll tell you," Tori finally says. She smiles when Robbie looks at her. "Just not here."

Her smile is ... hurt, struggling at the ends. He's never seen her like this. This is a Tori he doesn't know. Robbie reaches across the table again, but his hand meets nothing but her plate and her half eaten crust. It shrinks back. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't. Relax."

Robbie pays the bill and then they're walking out of the restaurant, a cheery bell dinging their departure. This time, Robbie remembers to open her door, and she giggles like windchimes as she dips into the passenger seat. They pull out of the parking lot in silence, the radio a soft hum. Robbie jumps when he checks his rear view mirror and meets Rex's eyes, his fingers clenching around the steering wheel.

"Where are we going?"

Tori smiles and settles her feet on Robbie's cracked dashboard. "We're in _Hollywood_, Robbie."

"The deal was to pay for dinner, remember? I upheld my end." He attempts a grin, but all he can hear is Rex telling him that he looks like an idiot.

But Tori's cheeks darken, so maybe Rex is wrong for once.

"Do you know where Sherwood High is?"

That name rings a bell somewhere far and distant in his mind. He knows he should know what that is, why that's significant. The pained look on Tori's face contradicts her words - why would she want to go there if it's not a happy place?

"Yeah. It's on the west side, right? By Mike's Auto?"

She doesn't say anything, just nods and sinks in her seat. Robbie frowns slightly as he navigates the streets, Rex occasionally catching his eye in the mirror. He understands why most people find the doll so creepy. Rex is a creepy doll. He remembers the first time he saw him, in an antique store when he was six. His mom was looking for some kind of fancy headboard for their new mattress and Robbie had wandered, naturally, to the toys. The puppet was buried under a stuffed Winnie the Pooh. He was much more scuffed up then, and his eyes were chipping paint, but Robbie's tiny hands had lifted the wild-haired puppet from the land of misfit toys and held him to his chest and that's when he first heard it. The voice. It was pretty similar to a bully who picked on him at school for wearing glasses. It said, _you're not much, kid_.

Robbie named him Rex that same day because he reminded him of the dinosaur - he was vicious and mean and just because he didn't have razored teeth didn't mean that Rex couldn't hurt him.

And he did. A lot.

Robbie pulls into the school's empty parking lot. The building is much smaller than Hollywood Arts and so plain and dull it's hard to imagine someone like Tori walking those halls. He turns off the car and the dampening sky hangs above them in silence, the car suddenly too warm. Robbie winds down his window and when he turns back Tori's face is centered in front of him, hands on the console. Robbie jumps.

"Sorry." Tori licks her lips. "I just, I've been dying to kiss you for a week and I -"

Robbie shuts her up with his mouth. It's extremely effective. She doesn't taste like alcohol or lipgloss. Just faintly of pizza, but mostly just Tori, of sincerity and sweetness and Coke and beauty.

His hands hold her cheeks, feeling her warm lips ignite against his and a fire sparks in his gut, the flames licking within his veins and bursting. He imagines dynamite exploding in his chest, sending his heart through a wild panic.

He knows this could end in ashes.

But it might just be fireworks instead.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: _This story has proven to be one of the more difficult that I've written. I'm so used to slash that I'm, like, heterosexually impaired. HOW DO YOU PEOPLE FUNCTION_

_I kid, I kid. Reviews would be lovely._


	5. Chapter 5

**_-The Luckiest_**  
><em>Part Five <em>

_"And I know that I am, I am  
>I am the luckiest."<em>

* * *

><p>It's bliss, those few minutes he spends kissing Tori Vega. For that short space of time, there is no Rex in the backseat. There isn't a bad person trapped inside of him. Tori tastes like Tori, and his hands are on her waist, just like they were the first time, except Tori's not drunk and Robbie's not scared. She's here because she wants to be - because she chose to be. She <em>chose<em> him. She chose _him_, and that rattles his brain with the magnitude of earthquakes. He can feel tremors in his toes.

They pull back to breathe. Robbie's eyes flutter open to watch Tori's tongue resting on her lower lip, cheeks flushed. She's beautifully breathless, the hand that had been holding Robbie's cheek falling on the console between them. Her eyes open slowly, brown irises blown wide by her pupils. She smiles. She laughs. Robbie laughs, too, his hand crooking over his mouth to muffle the sound. Tori's eyes water, arms wrapping around her stomach as she falls against the passenger seat because it _is_ funny, really. A boy like him with a girl like her. It's hysterical.

Several minutes pass before either of them can breathe normally. Robbie's hand falls atop hers, the warm, tan skin blazing under his pale palm. His thumb brushes against her, eyes resting nervously on the crooked lines of his knuckles. It's then he's made aware of Rex in the backseat, catching the doll's blue, painted eyes in his peripherals. His breath stills, turning away from Tori to stare at him, expecting some kind of remark, some whiplash for kissing Tori. Something like _wow you're a horrible kisser_ or _she looks completely disgusted_ or _you're such a piece of shit for even touching her_ or -

But there's nothing. There's just a doll sitting there in silence, drooped against the backseat. Tori follows his gaze, twisting slightly to perch her elbow on the console. The two stare at the puppet for a few moments, the sun slipping slowly under the horizon in the back window of Robbie's car.

"I used to have this imaginary friend," Tori says, with the slightest squeeze on Robbie's hand. "Her name was Gabby. I remember I used to buckle her in the car, save a seat for her at dinner, make room on my bed for her at night - everything." Her head falls against the rest on the top of the seat. Robbie's eyes glue themselves to the frown ghosting over her lips. "If I ever did something I wasn't supposed to, like eat a cookie before dinner or spill paint on the table or something like that, I would blame her. I told my parents they couldn't get mad at me because it wasn't me who did it, it was Gabby. And it made me feel less guilty, you know?"

Robbie's eyes are on the doll again. He takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out, slow and easy, before his eyes fall closed. Memories project themselves against the lids like an old movie, visions of him holding Rex while the puppet spewed venom at a smaller, younger kid in the lunch line in elementary school. He sees Rex convincing him to throw stones at one of his neighbor's cars, kicking down someone's Christmas decorations - it did make him feel better by being disconnected from the violence, from the wrong. When he told Tori he had never done anything illegal, it was true, at least to him. Rex did the illegal things. Robbie was just the puppet.

Robbie is Rex's puppet.

Robbie's free hand presses against his forehead. "Tori." Her name is crushed as it pushes out of his lips, like it hurts. "In the restaurant, you said ... you said you would tell me what you thought of yourself." Maybe he was just trying to get off of the subject - he didn't want Rex ruining his evening without him even saying anything. He lowers his hand to stare at her, but she's facing the window, eyes on the school. The silence stretches so long between them it's almost like an actual distance, the boy rubbing the back of his neck and blabbering on - "Because I don't see how you can think of yourself as anything but perfect because you're so kind and sweet and talented and beautiful and -"

"I feel like I cheated."

Robbie wasn't expecting that. Not that he really knew what he was expecting, exactly, but it certainly wasn't that. His dark brows knit over his nose as he looks at her again, the girl now facing the windshield. Her fingers twist in her lap.

"Cheated?"

"Yeah." She gives a slow nod. "I mean, my sister worked to get into Hollywood Arts. I know she's kind of stuck-up and pretty full of herself, but she's not in a prestigious art school for nothing." Tori sinks in the passenger seat, the hills of her knees denting. "And you guys - all of you, Andre, Cat, Beck - you all worked so hard to get where you are now and I just..." Her hand waves a little bit. "I just kind of fell into it and it doesn't seem fair. I feel like I cheated, like I took the easy way. It makes me want to quit sometimes because I don't feel like I've done anything to earn all of this."

"All of what?" Robbie studies her through the dark, trying to understand how she could have even the slightest negative thought about herself. To him, he was the luckiest guy just by being in the same car as her, the same school, the same state, and knowing that she gave him even a sliver of her time absolutely astounded him.

"Hollywood Arts. My new friends." She smiles. It's soft and delicate, like flower petals as she looks up at him again. "You."

The rush of blood to his cheeks is probably at an unhealthy level. Steaming, Robbie turns away, staring down into his lap. "Tori," he starts, only to falter, taking a deep breath to try again. "Tori, you're - perfect sounds ... cliche, I know, but ..." He waves his hands for emphasis, still blushing. "Just because we went to Hollywood Arts and Hollywood Arts came to you doesn't mean you're less talented than us."

"But I didn't even want this until it stumbled on me. I was going to be - jeez, I don't know, a nurse or a dentist or something. It never even occurred to me and I feel ..." She drifts, shaking her head. "Sorry, Robbie, I don't mean to throw this all on you like this -"

"No, it's fine." It is. Robbie can't remember the last time anyone trusted him like this, even dared to open up and share something so personal. The words sound raw and he just knows that Tori hasn't talked to anyone else like this before, hasn't told anyone the way she feels about Hollywood Arts. "Tori, you're really talented. You're a great singer and a great actress and Hollywood Arts is lucky to have you. Sometimes things just ... play out like this, you know? I don't think you should feel bad for how you got to Hollywood Arts. I think you should just be grateful that you did. Because otherwise we wouldn't've -" Robbie stops, his hand rubbing at his neck again, shifting his nervous gaze to the steering wheel. "We wouldn't've met."

Tori's hand finds his again. She holds it in silence, the sun descending behind them, Sherwood High in front. The quiet isn't awkward; it sits comfortably between them, a warm blanket on a cool evening. Rex is silent in the backseat, Robbie's eyes briefly meeting his in the mirror. For once in his life, Robbie challenges him. He dares Rex to say anything cruel about Tori, about himself. He doesn't want to be a bad person, he doesn't want to sincerely believe that someone like Rex is truly a part of him - a part he can't control.

"Tori?"

She looks at him, a smile on her face, and she's so pretty in the waning sunlight that it's all Robbie can do to keep talking.

"What if I'm a bad person?"

Tori's face doesn't change. She keeps smiling at him, keeps holding his hand. She even leans closer, over the console of the car. Frozen, Robbie's eyes flutter closed as her lips meet his cheek, planting a ghost of a kiss just below his eye.

"Everyone can be a bad person, Robbie." She leans back, head back on the rest of the passenger seat. "Everyone has bad parts about them." The dark circles of her eyes turn toward the backseat, where the limp, lifeless Rex stares at them. With her eyes on him, she continues - "But they're not all of us, not if we don't let them. You have a choice, you know."

Slowly, he turns. He meets Rex's eyes. "Ventriloquism is supposed to be my talent. Making dolls talk without moving my lips was my ticket into Hollywood Arts. But I like singing and acting, too. I don't want to be tied to him for the rest of my life."

"You don't have to be."

He smiles, and it finally feels like he's genuinely smiling. There are no strings. No puppeteer. Just him. He looks at her again, her teeth buried in her lower lip, and he's so overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her, so he does, one hand cupping her cheek as he closes his mouth over hers. Her breath comes out of her nose in warm, choppy exhales, and under his mouth he can feel the muscles of her lips tensing in an attempt to both smile and kiss at the same time. And he feels it, under his skin, in his bones, setting the strings that have been controlling him his entire life starting to blacken and loosen. This isn't an overnight thing, going from a puppet to a real boy, but Tori's made of fireworks and Robbie has faith.

"Robbie?"

"Yeah?"

"As much as I'm enjoying myself, it's nine fifty and my dad is a cop and has a gun."

"Getting shot is not in my repertoire." But he kisses her for just a few minutes longer, tasting her for real this time.

They sing with the windows down on the way back to Tori's house, just barely over the speed limit, because really, Robbie has no plans to make his relationship with Tori's father a bad one, now that she's - he swallows thickly. Girlfriend sounds so strange when it's not a title in a script with some poor girl forced to play his significant other. It's actually, well, significant, because she's not acting here. She's just Tori, and he's Robbie, and finally, that feels like a good thing.

The car idles in her driveway as he insists she stay put, ducking out of the seat to run around to her side. She's laughing and blushing, which Robbie finds incredible, as he takes her hand and shuts the car door behind her. She stays close to him as they walk toward their door, Rex slumped in the backseat, out of sight, out of mind.

"My sister was right," Tori says, squeezing their entwined fingers as she leans close to him. "You _are_ a good kisser."

Robbie grins, his cheeks pink. "Rex was wrong."

"Oh?" Her right brow perks.

"You _do_ like me."

Tori's smile softens, giving him a slow but firm nod. "Yes, I do. You should listen to yourself more often and not him so much."

"I'll work on it."

He kisses her once more before she slips inside, waving slender fingers at him. He takes a deep breath when the door clicks closed, swinging his leg over the porch step and moving back to his car. The smile on his face feels strange and unfamiliar, but certainly not unwelcome. He traces it with his fingertip as he slides back into the drivers seat, eyes automatically drawn to the mirror.

_This will not end well_, the puppet says, motionless. It scares Robbie for a few seconds, his throat tight and his hands in fists on his knees. His eyes turn to Tori's house, the windows warm with yellow light, and he licks his lips and she's still there, a stamp.

"You're wrong," he says aloud, and the puppet doesn't reply as he drives home.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _...And scene!_

_I'm sorry this last installment took so long - I burned my hand and was unable to type/do much of anything for several days. I hope you enjoyed the story! There may be more Rori in the future. _


End file.
